We had scouted the route through the last set of major pressure to a point where we had to both heave each sled up and over a wall of rubbled ice.

We were relieved to see at least one small pan but from the top of the ridge we could see row after row of jumbled ice blocks and pressure.

Still anything was better than what we went through the whole second half of yesterday. So we skied on surprisingly optimistic. It helped that it was good visibility as well.

The nature of the ice has changed and were starting to see more rubbled ice and cracks in the ice. Today, we haul our sleds over several large spans (25 meters) of rounded ice blocks ranging in size from soccer balls to washing machine (I couldn't think of a better reference - grocery cart?) and everything in between.

Trying to get our sleds through that twisted mess is a monumental effort as they bounce, veer, flip and turn as randomly as a pinball. At times, the sled will even start sliding backwards pulling one of us with it. Other times, it takes all of our strength to lift and pull a sled over an obstacle. It can be very frustrating.

When my sled fell into a big crack just after heaving it up, I felt like giving up. I named my sled H.M.S. Merritt and I have been having conversations with it as if it were Merritt.

Instead, I just said, 'now why would you do that little boy. You're just being a silly boy, that's all.'

It helps on many levels.

While the ice opened up the snow surface softened and we could feel the coarse dry ice crystals bog us down. Several times I to switch from skis to snowshoes just to pull my sled across some drifts. Ugh. I've been hesitant to say out loud I wish there it was windy so all this dry surface snow will blow away, but...

Later, near the end of the day, I glanced over my shoulder and saw the moon. Looking around it felt like I was on another planet - Ryan, skiing steadily behind me in goggles and polar gear or was it a space suit?

Distance traveled: 7.0 nm

Image: Ryan and the human lever technique.